


Hearts

by naasad



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, College, Crack, Crushes, Gen, M/M, Passionate Nostrils, Pining, friends - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 06:02:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17913170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naasad/pseuds/naasad
Summary: Courfeyrac accidentally takes Enjolras' diary to class.





	Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Based on enjoloras' post [here](http://enjoloras.tumblr.com/post/183031965811/i-want-to-see-more-flustered-lovestruck-enjolras). Yall should go check out his stuff if you haven't already!

Living with Courfeyrac had good moments and bad moments. Good moments included early morning pancakes, late night movie marathons, and help practicing for mock trials. Bad moments included every time he ran around the living room like a headless chicken looking for whatever it was he had lost this time.

“It’s my Torts notebook!” he screeched. “It’s red and has flower duct tape covering that dick that Bahorel drew on the front!”

Enjolras groaned. “You’re going to be late, just use one of mine and you can copy over your notes after you find it when you get back.”

Courfeyrac ran past him, pressing a kiss to his cheek on his way to his bedroom. “You’re a lifesaver! Which one?”

“Doesn’t matter, just pick one and go!”

“Alright, thanks, love you, bye!”

Enjolras rolled his eyes and turned back to his Civil Procedure essay, typing like a madman and trying to avoid ripping the entire system to shreds. (He’d been working on being less… intense. Combeferre said he’d made progress.)

Three cups of coffee and untold hours later, there was a key in the lock, and he looked up as Courfeyrac came back in, looking shaken. “What’s wrong?”

Courfeyrac held up the notebook he’d borrowed.

Enjolras recognized it immediately and went very, very still.

“I think I grabbed the wrong notebook,” he said, setting it down on the coffee table, “although, to be fair, it’s not my fault when they all look the same.”

“It’s because those ones last a long time.” Enjolras swallowed and stared at his journal – the deep burgundy leather against the dark wood. “How much did you read?”

“I didn’t, but on the last page…. I didn’t show it to anybody to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating – none of our friends can keep a secret except maybe Feuilly and ‘Sette – but it was a near thing. You – you really wrote-”

Enjolras buried his face in his hands and groaned, trying to cover his face with his shirt, entirely sure he was blushing from the roots of his hair to his toes.

“M. & M. Rodolphe Grantaire in your diary – five times – surrounded with hearts and stars?”

Enjolras mumbled something to his knees.

“What was that?”

“I said I mark important things with stars.”

Courfeyrac snorted. “Okay, and the hearts?”

Enjolras shrugged. “I didn’t feel the stars accurately expressed the importance of it.”

“Uh-huh.” Courfeyrac reached over and felt his forehead with the back of his hand.

Enjolras slapped the hand away. “Stop it. I’m not sick. He just-” He sighed. “He has such nice hands. And eyes. And his laugh is so genuine when he’s not being contrary. And his nose is just so expressive. Have I mentioned his hands?”

Courfeyrac stared for a beat. And then another. And then he doubled over, laughing so hard he eventually fell on the floor.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Stop it. I’ll kick you.”

“Uh-huh,” Courfeyrac giggled, rolling out of the range of his boots, still laughing his fool head off.

“Are you done.”

Courfeyrac’s giggles tapered out and he cleared his throat and stood. “Okay, okay, for now. But seriously, Grantaire? All you do is fight with him.”

“And he gets so passionate about it.” Enjolras sighed dreamily, perching his chin on his hand. “His nostrils do this thing when he gets really fired up….”

“Gross.”

“Shut up.”

“So are you going to tell him?”

Enjolras choked on his own tongue. “Te – tell him? Have you lost your mind? There is no way he likes me back.”

Courfeyrac nodded, looking serious, then whipped out his phone and sent a text.

“Did you just tell him?” Enjolras demanded.

“What? Who? Me?” Courfeyrac took a step back, holding up three fingers. “I would never. Scout’s honor.”

“Courfeyrac,” Enjolras warned, taking a step forward.

“Relax, I just told Eponine I want to change my bet, that’s all.”

“Oh.” Enjolras turned back to his work, then whipped around. “Did you say bet?”

Courfeyrac sighed. “Enjolras. Sweetie.”

“Don’t ever call me that again.”

“Yeah, I hated it the minute it left my mouth. Anyway, every time you two talk, the sexual tension is so thick it could be cut with a knife.”

Enjolras huffed. “It’s just tension. There’s nothing sexual about it. You’re imagining things.” He snatched up his journal and stormed back to his room.

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes. “Hey, if you want, I can show you to make these really fancy curlicue hearts!”

“Shut up!”

If anyone asked, Enjolras totally did not spend the rest of the evening trying to figure out how to draw "really fancy curlicue hearts".


End file.
